40x45
Not silence, but a murmur seeps through—the faint stirrings of voices that belong neither to this world nor the next. The sphere gleams like a relic of passage, a cold reminder of doors once opened, now forever sealed.
Yet the canvas betrays its own confinement: shadows writhe and fold, straining to break free, as though the fabric itself cannot contain the burden it carries. What was hidden presses outward, what was buried yearns to speak.
These whispers are not meant for comfort. They are fragments of the unseen, beckoning, warning, haunting—an echo from beyond the veil, where night is not the end, but the beginning of a darker truth.
 
Texture fiber, gips, structuurpasta, heavy medium gel, acrylverf en vernis op doek.